The Lost Glory
by cookieMonsteer
Summary: Some see the city as vacant and vile, while others assumes its presence as binding and therefore unbreakable. It was this city where the crime had been committed, but birthed into anew in the city of the assassins. It is known a presence will not go unnoticed or unseen in the next nature, but one life, no matter how foreseeing, it is not worth the bloodshed of a thousand more men.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey Guys, so this is the Assassins Creed fic I mentioned in the other notes, I must say it is pretty graphic and is a little touchy on some subjects so please don't hate for that. hope you enjoy it and it's not a sappy OC story so if you wanted that I'm sorry.**

**Disclaim: I do not own any Assassins Creed characters or ideas**

* * *

The oncoming morning was shrouded in a thick haze. A potent scent of fire consumed the air as they walked on towards unfamiliar territory. Around them were isolated towers in which Templar knights stood guard, eying the travelers like prey in the wilderness. The knights seemed agitated as she passed, giving her and her passenger little comfort in the gestures they made. The various comments and motions were both unpleasing and sickening, whistling and yelling putrid words that could only be spoke by those vile enough to endure there poison. No man, no matter how deprived should speak the way they had, it was beastly and intolerable to speak to a women in this manner, whether she be a beetle ridden whore, or a respectable symbol such as herself.

Alas, it was not so uncommon to hear such vulgarity. One could say she was habituated to the sound. Even in a place as valor as the Empire herself, men still seemed hungry for lust and would achieve it by any means necessary. It was not however, accustomed to do so in the presence of innocence such as her son. In this sense Ardariouse gave his mother a protection from the eyes of these men and in hope that their wrath may too be shielded by his purity.

It was indeed Ardariouse who had brought them to the unknown vulgarity of the eastern borders. He, like many of the women and children of Rome, were abandoned by their men in search for the familiar lust that these Templars reenacted. For her situation though, it was diverse, her husband, an Assassin, had promised her a life of secrecy, hidden by the magistrates of Rome who have held her prisoner within the sacred golden halls of the foreseers. Within those walls she was vacant and dull, and now, having escaped those chains she remains the same as she were before she met the Assassin.

To many it would seem enduring, this journey she sought would seem to be for her own hidden pleasures. But this voyage was not made for her passion, that had long since passed, but this was the desire of her son. To see his father would mean the world to him, and though he was not yet seven years past the day of his birth, he was suspicious and often speculated against his young mother in desperate determination to seek the truth about his father. She could not blame him for this and who was she to deny him? But as they drew closer to the city of Masyaf the question arose if it were better for Ardariouse not to know his father, then condemn him to the path of sin in which her husband had committed? She did not have the answer.

It was the sin that burned into the maidens mind, and with the strange me approaching her, the future began to dance, apparitional forms moving and crying out for mercy, but given none. The faces of these entities where blurred and irregular. One however was clear enough to be a woman, held down by the weight of a man on her bare breasts and being torn at by the others who swarmed around her naked body, chanting like savage beasts giving a sacrifice to the gods.

"Halt!" the knights voice was rough and grainy like sand as it projected from his mouth. He reeked of quandary and she could sense it, holding Ardariouse closer to her and gripping the reins tightly. "where you traveling to miss, maybe I could help you." He bore a fake smile as he came closer to her horse, patting him on the shoulder while moving his hand closer to the reins.

"I pray thee sir, we are nearly passing through, I thank you for your consideration." She tightened her reins once again, causing the heavy dappled horse to through his head into the air and stumble on his back feet. Her eyes searched for the spoiled woman but she had vanished from the scene, leaving her to take its place. With blood now beginning to pump in the woman's ears, her world, along with the men became muffled and blurred. This type of behavior meant something and something bad. Masyaf was merely a half days ride from where they stood, and if need be she would leave Ardariouse to the will of the gods, and give herself to the men as a means of distraction, giving her son the best chance of survival she could give him.

"It's a shame such a pretty voice is hidden in the shadows. Take off that hood of yours so I can see if your face is as appealing." Aggression was rising within the knight, but there was also a desire in him, that she could tell by the way he pulled at the belt of his tunic. It was a behavior that had distinguished the thoughts of many men , and he although the land was foreign to her, it was no exception.

"Please, let us pass through." Her voice was shaky, the man came closer and she could feel her body tighten. Ardariouse felt this as well and turned his head to look up at his mother with beautiful blue eyes, and she could only respond to this with fear. At this time more men began to approach them, looking just as lustful as the one blocking them.

The woman gazed down upon her child, her breath burdened with ache and sorrow although she hadn't dare admit it. She leaned forward in the saddle slightly over Ardariouse's brown hair. She pulled the boy close to her breast, and feeling his head press against the pendent around her neck she began to whisper horrifying words to her son. "Ride to the eastern sun my child and don't look back until you have reached the woven gates."

Once again facing her future captors, the woman raised her head away from Ardariouse and with one hand reached down the front of her dress and gripped the token tightly. This action provoked the men further, sending them into a state of aggression that blazed into their eyes. Once more in hope and charity towards her gods she beckoned, not to the men but to the sky above her, "please."

"do not pray to your god beautiful woman, for they cannot help you now." The man tugged at the reins, spooking the horse. He looked over towards his accomplices and made a jerking motion with his head. And in the moment he had two of the men from behind, grabbed the women near the thigh of her dress and pulled her to the ground, ripping the silky cotton of the roman styled dress.

She looked up at her son frantically, she tried desperately to give his some reassurance but she failed to conjure any form of faith within those few moments. All that would break from her lips were the orders of motion in which Ardariouse could not yet comprehend. In horror her mother cried out for her son to run, but he was frozen. Looking at his mother, her white dress barely hanging on naked shoulder and the fastens of her hood torn and her slightly curled hair parted over her breasts.

The boy did not know how to react to this, he wasn't sure of what the men's intentions were and therefore was unable to comprehend what was going to happen. He had seen this behavior before tho, not with his mother but with the many women that littered the streets of his home. In those instances he would close his crimson curtains and look away, but being so close to the act and having it be so personal, he need the frantic voice of his mother to break him from his trance and force him to run.

Part of her felt relief as her son fled from her, another part broken by it. As she lay on the ground the knights tore at her cloths and panted in a heat. It was in her nature to fight as she did, struggling and screaming at the men who ravaged her. It was only when the head knight furiously devoured her chapped lips, that she had begun to shiver all over and without thinking and bit down hard onto the mans lips. this action earned her a hard slap across the side of her face and allowing his victim to get a frontal view of his slightly shadowed face and unattractive features.. But the men hadn't strayed even after the side of her head began to bleed and her own beauteous features became unsightly. They took turns pulling off shards of clothing and beating her savagely until she could no longer see the light of the early morning, but the men didn't care and continued to investigate their prize.

One after one they ravaged her and after each one there was more pain and then the one who had had her before. She could feel her inner thighs beginning to bruise with every thrust of movement. As they moved deeper into her It was not pleasure she felt, but the pain of her body beginning to tear apart and the heat of the blood that ran fluidly down her inner legs. But still the men perused her looking at the scent of pleasure as key to continue.

As the head guard pulled out of her she felt a shiver run over her lower body, he too felt this shiver and once fully cloths again stood over her and pressed is dirt covered boot onto the woman's face, pressing harder over the bridge of her nose causing the bones to begin to crack and blood to cover her trampled face. She was truly broken, and he knew it. Smiling at her he licked his lips and pushed the hot dirt onto to bloody facade.

"Once you are finished, tie her to a post and leave her as a reminder for the Assassins." Carefully pulling his belt tighter, what was now known as the captain stood over his pray and kicked another cloud of dust into the woman's body, missing her head by a stone. "And leave not a scrap of cloth on her back." He looked over his shoulder and smiled vaguely, looking over her body once more before stalking off out of view.

The clouded dirt screened over her eyes, making it difficult to see but his words were almost to clear for her understand. It was not the thought of being exposed to the elements or other men that discouraged her, it was too late for her to worry about something as familiar to her as that. it was the fear that these men would chase her son and possibly do the same to him that brought tears back into her eyes.

Closing her eyes tightly she could feel the final guard release her from his lustful bars but it sadly did not mean he was through with her. Sliding his callused hands over her legs, the made his way slowly to her breasts and pulled the last remaining garment left on her. He held the old tooth in his hands and slid the leather through his fingers. He chuckled darkly and pressed the tip of the artifact into her flesh, spawning a pool of crimson blood around it.

The woman yelped in pain, her instincts reappearing and squirming her body out from underneath the man. The templar however had other plans. He pinched his nails into woman's skin and pulled them over her breasts and stopped short at her stomach, her continuous barks of pain seemingly annoying her captor.

"You scream too much." As She inched away from the man her focused was pulled to a distorted shape of a white horse in the distance with a rider in equally white garb. She yelled for them but her call was answered by a heavy blow to her head by a heavy hand , causing her to slip into darkness with the image of the white dressed assailant approaching her.

The man, a templar named Robert de Sable, stood over the woman who had curled herself into a fetal position. He bore a daunting smile as leaned over and took the maiden in his arms, carrying her to the broken fence post at the pass of the road. Placing her in front of one of the splintering posts, Robert unlatched his sword belt and detaching his sword from it, restrained the women securely to the wood facing the hot sun. leaving her with no protection, the templar turned away and whipped the sweat of his hairless head.

Racing down the dirt path, the broken edges of the Masyaf gate came into sight. The sun was brutally hot and Ardariouse was weak, unable and unknowing of the events around him, he could not control the rapid pounding of the horse's massive hooves, even when they approached the gate there was nothing Ardariouse could do but fade in and out of consciousness from both heat and exhaustion as he passed a man who became curious of the behavior.

Looking over the saddle of his horse Altair noticed the young boy hunched forward. At first he mistook him for a drunk who had stumbled onto a horse, but soon saw under the light brown hood, the face of a child. Puzzled Altair began to race down the dirt path after Ardariouse on his own honey colored steed. The vibrant rays of the late afternoon sun beating down on his white tunic and forming a band of sweat to form across his choppy sun kissed hair as the assassin fled towards the injured child.

As he approached the rotted gate, Altair could see the dark robes of his fellow Assassin blocking the path of the powerful steed. Malik seemed to have a clear understanding of the situation, as he raised both arms high into the air to calm the horse into a halt, hesitant to whether he would obey or run through him like wind in the grass.

"Malik! It is a child!" skidding to a halt , Altair leaped off his horse and retreated to the left side of the opposing horse. Pressing his hand on the animals back and could feel it quiver through the thick layer of sweat that covered its dapple gray coat. Cautiously Altair made his way to Ardariouse's side and gently pressed on the child's knee as Malik held the trembling horse by its reins.

"Altair, what happen here?" joining Altair was a tall man in a black robe with equally dark choppy hair. Stabilizing the horse, Malik ran his hands over the breast plate and bridal the horse wore and felt abnormally distraught. The intricate markings and coloring of the leather suggested foreigners to him , but oddly enough the breast plate acquired a native eagles feather that could only be found within range of Masyaf.

Altair exchanged looks with Malik before reaching around Ardariouse and gently pulling him off of the leather saddle, whispering comforting words to the child in a sense to calm him. "It will be alright, your safe now." Holding the boy tightly in his arms, Altair brushed the dirty cotton hood off of his head to uncover dusty brown hair and a pair of broken brown eyes.

Looking up at Malik, Altair allowed himself to ease his knees onto the dirt and comfortably place Ardariouse on his lap. He brushed the boys hair back lightly to uncover blistering skin and peeling flesh. "We need to get him to Al Mualim."

Malik bent down beside his brother and examined the child's wounds, "he is not from here Altair, the master will not take kindly to bringing him into the city without ratification." Reaching into one of his deep pockets, he pulled out a small jar filled with a cream like substance and cautiously soothed it over Ardariouse's forehead.

Altair was about to object but was hushed by the child's soft, pure voice. He couldn't fathom how a child like this boy could end up in the far lands of the east without a sense of aid or direction. But what was ever more unsettling was the knowledge that the order would think to object to an innocent child in need of guidance , after all it was something that there creed had sworn them to promise.

"They took…my mother…" trying to hold back frightened tears, Ardariouse welcomed the comfort of the assassins and pleaded with his dusty eyes for their help. He could see underneath the hood Altair wore and noticed his choppy light brown hair and warming honey eyes. He clung tightly to the assassin's tunic and showed no satisfaction in letting go.

"Tell me boy, who took your mother?" Pulling the child deeper into his arms, Altair's expression became serious as he looked over Ardariouse and scanned the area for any sign of distraught. He rested his eyes upon Malik and seemed to have a silent conversation with him. Malik narrowed his own eyes in response to his symbolic brother's plea and shook his head solemnly.

"Altair, you can not assume this as our responsibility, I must take the boy to the Master and he will decide what to do from there." Malik straightened his back and took hold of the trembling horse and reached over to Altair, motioning for him to hand over the child. "you have business in Damascus Altair, I shall take him."

Altair rose will the boy still tightly enclosed within his arms. He could sense the child had fallen into a heat induced sleep from his lack of movement a labored breathing. However at the feel of Malik's touch as he went to hold him, Ardariouse instantly griped the fabric of Altair's tunic tighter, making his decision apparent and therefore making Altair's decision for him.

"You take the horse to the stables and are sure he are well taken care of. I shall take the boy to Al Mualim." Beginning to feel the exhaustion in his arms, Altair shifted the boys weight and moved quickly towards his agitated steed.

Malik moved quickly next to him, placing one hand on Altair's knee while the other held the foreign reins of the grey horse beside him. His intention was made clear as the deep hue of his eyes bore warning to the young, mounted Assassin. But truth be told, his brother by creed was not one for appending the common advise of his for brothers. But even to the common folk, Altair had become a symbol of insolence, however it may be he was still cherished by the master, Al Mualim and there after his judgment over ruled that of any persons, whether they be assassins or not.

This insolence is what made Malik's words odious to the ear. His precautious movements towards the order, and to Altair primarily, is what has ranked him so mighty above his lower brothers in arm. But as mindful as he was, Altair seemed to allude his messages and become immune to the prosperity they hold, making it no surprise when he left Malik in the accumulating cloud left behind by the thundering hooves of the mount.

" You must not disregard the consequences of your actions Altair!" his vigilant voice marked the silent hum of the breeze and coolness of the wind. She pulled at Malik's black hair and stroked the coarse strands between her fingers, to the assassin, the wind was welcoming him into the imminent dusk, and although it was not yet past three quarters day, he hunched that the darkening night would bring ghastly news, and watching Altair speed off towards the castle brought the prophecy closer to young man but was helpless to change it.

Malik looked once more at the strange horse. It occurred to him that the origin of theses foreigners could be linked to whatever hid enclosed in the husky brown saddle bags this horse carried. But the will of the assassins own right to secrecy held him back. It was understood that what you carry close to you is your business and yours alone. Alas this is what is seen in Malik's eye, to the Master it was sure the thought would be altered and the belonging searched. However that was up to them and such violation would not be executed by this Assassin. And therefore, stoking the majestic mammal's long, auburn mane, Malik took hold of the beings reins and began leading the trembling being into Masyaf's rotted gates.


	2. Chapter 2

I know It's been a while but I stumbled across this in my documents and read it, and once again wanted to write. I am going to be honest, I do not know much of what I am going to write about so if there is anything you would like to see feel free to contact me. Thank you for those who have not forgotten me.

Disclaim: I do not own any Assassins Creed characters or ideas

* * *

As the blistering sun fell back behind the dark shroud of night the unforgiving heat that had left the atmosphere, remained obediently on the woman's body. Every inch of her skin had become blistered by the sun, protruding through the thick layer of blood and dirt that have staked claim on her once perfect skin. Her arms grew tired and limp as they reached towards the night sky. Her wrists slipping foolishly around the leather that bound them to the post.

Shadows danced under the cover of the night, keeping her company throughout her torturous punishment. Except punishment is not what you would call this. Punishment would imply that she had disobeyed, revolution, or sinned. But no crime had been committed to deserve such treatment. This was not an act of the gods, for she knew them well and held council with them frequently. And this, this was not them. This was man, their creation, who had done this to her.

The sound of footsteps echoed in the darkness. Another false hope of salvation that would end in brutality. And with a guard constantly keeping watch from the tower, nobody would dare come to her aid. As the footsteps came closer they became multiplied and light. This could not be a group of men coming for scraps tonight. By now she could tell the difference of man and women, just by the lightness of their feet.

Finally gaining the strength to look up, out of the darkness grew three figures dressed in light robes with hoods over covering their faces. It was unclear if these figures were truly existent or hallucinations of the days to come. After this treatment, it was hard to distinguish reality from vision, something that used to be easily determined.

As these figures approached, it became certain that they were no hallucination, however they were not entirely real either. As if on command they all stopped in front of the mangled woman, and for a while they stood silently and observed. Now as they stood close, it was clear that two of these figures were female, and the one other male. Each of the women held something in their arms, one a large basin of water, and the other what looked as though to be robes.

The man came forward and knelt down infront of the woman. "Do not be afraid my child" he said to her in a soothing voice. He brushed her filthy hair away from her face and summoned the water woman to his side.

"We are here to help you." tearing a piece of cloth from his robe, the older man submerged the fabric in water the gently placed it over the bound woman's lips. "Go ahead" he said, "drink".

But the woman did not drink, she did not even want to look at the man in front of her. She parted her blistered lips to speak and when she did, the her dry skin cracked and began to bleed under the dirt that masked them.

"I have dishonored you, and do not deserve your kindness." looking away from the man, the woman began to focus on something off in the distance, " I have seen what is to come, In time I will be freed by one of those who have wronged me," with a dull hope in her light blue eyes the maiden looked back at the elder.

"You have done nothing to dishonor us my dear, man has dishonored themselves." the man pushed her gross hair away from her face and wiped away the dirt from her skin. "This is why you must live, you must go to the assassins and guide them towards us, for there is corruption within." once all the grime was off her face the man offered once again for her to drink, and this time she accepted.

The cool water sliding down the woman's throat like ice in a river, the feeling of pure satisfaction as it ran over her lips. As she drank the two woman came to her and began to bath her arms and legs, washing away all impurity from her thighs.

"The assassins?" she questioned, "I do not understand." a cold chill ran up the nape of her neck. The women aider her had finished with the bathing and wrapped a robe around her shoulders.

" You are strong as you are wise Versaries, that is why we have chosen you to be our messenger. What you must do will be revealed to you in time. For now, you must stay alive." The older man stood in front of Versaries and with a large breath, inhaled the crisp night air and then he and the two women vanished along with the night and it's cool blanket of hope.

Back in Masyaf the night was far from over. Altair carried the sleeping child to one of the maidens houses and knocked on the door lightly, careful not to wake Ardariouse. A young woman answered the door. The young widow was obviously pregnant, her belly plump and bulging from under her sea green dress.

"Altair? I have to say this is a surprise." she had soft tone in her voice that was both mother and reassuring. She looked down at the child and then back at the assassin.

"He needs help Yael, his mother was taken." Altair looked down at the child who was motionless in his arms, his mouth quivering with each word that he spoke.

"Follow me." Yael said sharply and disappeared into a room in the back of the small house. The room was dark, lit only by a few small candles. In the corner of the room was a child's bed that was made up in dark bedding. "Lay him here." she said as she patted the small bed, "i'll get him some water."

As Yael passed to the basin that lay on a chest across the room she could see the lights in the large castle on the hill dim and eventually fade out. As she poured water from the pitcher into the wooden basen she began to question the assassin, as though he knew what and where the child came from.

"What happened to him?" Yael sad quietly as she carried the water over to the bed where Ardarius lay. She placed the basin beside the bed and began to undress the young boy. However when she removed the cotton tunic over him she gasped out at the sight of the blistering around his forehead and arms.

" We do not know, he rode in on his own not too long ago, exhausted from the heat." Altair stood beside Yael and examined the child carefully, from his fluttering eyelids to his worn out boots. "We believe he is from a brother city" moving gently Altair was mesmerized by the amulet around the child's neck. Holding it in his hand he caressed his thumb over the latin letters unable to understand them.

"Will you look after him while I speak with Al Mualim?" dropping the amulet the assassin stood abruptly, as though something had startled him. He glanced out the window at the castle and then rubbed his hands through his rough hair.

"Yes of course," yael said sharpley. She soaked a piece of cloth in the water and began to sooth it over the young boy's body. " no child deserves to be left to fend for themselves." moving the cool water over Ardarious's skin, Yael could sense a cold silence fill the air before Altair finally walked over to her again.

"Thank you Yael," he opened one of the pouches from his belt and retrieved five gold coins for the woman who was hesitant to accept the money. "Keep him safe." Taking one last look at the sleeping child, the assassin let out a long, drawn back breath and walked out towards the front room of the house, all the while trying to plan what he would say to his superior and explain why his mission to find the Roman Oracle has been delayed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey Guys, here is the third chapter in my Assassins Creed fic. Hope you enjoy it and if you have any suggestions or are confused about anything feel free to PM me, I love hearing all your feedback. **

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaim: I do not own any Assassins Creed characters or ideas**

* * *

The smell of the early morning had begun to creep alongside the stone walls of the great castle. The everlasting cover of night did nothing to hide Altair from his brethren, who eagerly awaited him at the castle gate. Some glared in disgust, while others followed in admiration. It is true that Altair was swift with a sword and eager for justice against his enemies, but as Malik had reminded him when the child arrived, he was insolent and it would often get the best him.

It was indeed Altair's insolence that had the master, Al Mualim in an uproar as Altair entered into the large hallway of the main room. The usual isolation was now buzzing with anxiety and precaution. Ever since Masyaf caught wind of the missing Oracle everything it seemed had been out of place. Even the master, who could commonly be found within the isolation of books and knowledge had left his lethargic ways and became restless.

Perhaps this was the reason he had sent Altair away to investigate the disappearance. Altair knew he was one of the highest ranked assassins in the order and felt as though this mediocre mission was nothing more than collection run. But now, watching all the hooded faces before him it was clear that this was no such detail.

Climbing up that grand staircase at the far end of the room the bent figure of a man came into view. Altair halted and stood attentively at the top of the stairwell, waiting to be acknowledged by his superior.

"You have returned? I do not recall Damascus being so close to our city." the man turned away from the large wooden bookshelf and walked towards a massive, stained-glass window, "Daybreak is nearly an hour away and you return to me empty handed." The Master then turned to his student, his dark hood covering his tired and heavy eye.

"Master, there is something that has diverted me from my mission." Altair bent down on one knee to show respect to his elder, but the quickly retorted to standing as though he was afraid someone would once again judge him.

"Ahh yes." The Master sighed, returning to the heavy bookshelf, "the little Roman boy who washed up at our gate. Tell me Altair, where you planning on telling me about him before or after we found the Oracle?"

Slightly frustrated Altair mumbled under his breath about how that was what he was already there to do, but it was not until Al Mualim slammed a book onto the table in front of him that Altair felt pure frustration.

"Yet you waited for Malik to come and inform me! Was that out of spite? Or just plain stupidity?" Al Mualim crossed his aching arms and once again stepped towards the window, staring off towards the Eastern sky. "Where is the boy now?" he could see Altair's reflection in the class and instead of facing him directly, waited the reflections eyes met with his.

"The boy is being cared for by Jorram's widow, Yael. His injuries will be well looked after there." Altair crept closer to the wooden table before him, curious about the book that had been laid there by the Master.

"Ahh yes." Al Mualim searched for the young woman's house beneath the castle, " That poor girl, just recently a woman and now a widow with a child on the way." He turned towards his student who was focused on the text, " Jorram was a good man, honest, and brave. He would have done anything for his wife. It's a shame he left us so soon, he would have made an excellent teacher."

Altair smirked and tried to hold in a laugh " Jorram might have been a good man, but he was a fool. He should have never left the sanctity of the city, not with that many men after him."

Al Mualim shook his head in disappointment. " Do you understand why he left Altair? He left not because he was told to, because he would rather his own life be taken than that of his wife and unborn son." The master stood across from Altair, studying his movements and expression as he spoke again. "I wonder if you would do the same one day."

Altair looked up and met the solemn gaze of the old man. There were many things going through his mind in that moment. He hated being compared to other, especially those who have passed from their world. The assassin gritted his teeth and turned away, "What will you do with the boy?"

"The boy shall remain with Yael until he is fully recovered, from there…" Al Mualim reached over and caressed the long blade that was resting on the table next to the book, "We will see what can be made of him." The Master Assassin held the blade in his hand then pointed it at his student. "And as for you, you will continue on to Damascus and see what information you can gather there about this mishap."

Altair crossed his arms and turned towards the old man. "I suppose you already know about the boy's mother? I doubt Malik would leave that out."

Al Mualim lowered the blade and leaned on it as one would do at his age, he scoffed at his student and walked towards the window, gazing out at the coming sun. "He has informed me, what do you make of it?"

Altair look down at his feet, remembering the amulet the young boy wore. " I have reason to believe that these two incidents are connected, and if there is a chance that the Oracle is alive, than the boy would know where to look for her."

Al Mualim tightened his grip on the blade and looked down. "Very well then." he said solemnly. "I will send a team to Damascus in your stead."

Altair stepped forward cautiously, "Sir?"

The Master turned once again, but this time to the birdcage near the shelf in the room. "I want you to investigate the Templar camp just west of here, I have heard of commotion stirring and I want you to silence it." He grabbed the small white dove out of the cage and attached a letter inscribed with his plans.

"Master, If I may…" Altair stammered before being cut off by his Elder.

"That is all Altair. I hope that you would wish your brothers safe travels before they leave, you never know if you would see them again." The Master stroked the dove gracefully before he opened a small panel of the window, allowing the bird out.

_Its wings beating high in the sky, casting a shadow over the beaten woman who was now bathed by the sunlight and cleansed by the water of her saviors. _

**Well, there you have it, hope you enjoyed this chapter and I know there are still many questions but I promised they will be answered in the chapters to come. As always Follow/Favorite and Review with any suggestions. Until Next Time**


End file.
